I floated mid-river with Row Jimmy, guide to the stars, and the day can be summed up in two words: bite window. But let’s back up. Even though a 24-hour run up/fish/run back isn’t the most logical use of time, I was thrilled just to be there. It had originally looked like I wouldn’t be able to fish with Jim this fall, due to a comedy of scheduling errors. So when he texted me a few weeks earlier that Wednesday had opened up, I jumped on it.

To the fishing. We had a fly in the water by 7am, but the steelhead were unmotivated to strike. After banging away at a few different holding slots, we finally connected with a mint coin-bright skipper. I wish now that I’d taken a photo of that fish, because that was one of the most breathtakingly gleaming steelhead I’ve ever landed. I truly appreciate these junior-sized fish. They’re rambunctious and fun to play and land.

Mid-morning was the aforementioned bite window. I was three-for-four at one point, then the action slowed. One more in the hoop, and the bite vanished. We knew the fish were still in the run, although we couldn’t see them; unlike many Erie tribs, the dark substrate of the Salmon makes sight fishing a little tricky. No, we knew the fish were there because I started fouled them. You can’t catch what doesn’t want to eat, and sadly, that played out for the entire afternoon, save for one more 11th hour take that I never really had on.

The final tally was four: one on a bead, two on Apricot Supreme Blood Dot Eggs, one on a 60-Second Copperhead. Our decision to escape the madness of the masses on the upper river was validated by long stretches of fishing without another angler or drift boat in sight. What we lacked in numbers was made for in sheer enjoyment and camaraderie.

That’s a good day by any measure.